


Oh! Johnny

by sweartolennon



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: A bit of angst if you squint, Fluff, How Do I Tag, M/M, Midnight writing, Recovered Memories, Songfic, does this count as a songfic?, like literally i can't describe this, none of this is factually correct i wrote it while sleep deprived and didnt bother to fact check, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28500573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweartolennon/pseuds/sweartolennon
Summary: The middle of a doorway was not one of the most ideal places for uncovering a heavy memory from years past.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	Oh! Johnny

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my midnight stories that (after revisions and all) I was actually kinda proud of! It's probably not good, but idk. You be the judge. And, hey, no shame in posting a bad story, eh? I mean...a bit of shame. Anyway, I'll stop rambling and let you read.

_**1963** _

“The stars are bright tonight.”

Paul looked up at the sky. He hadn’t realized; he wasn’t even glancing at the stars for more than a couple seconds before looking back at John. He hummed out an “mm” in agreement. The wind was crisp, almost stinging their eyes, and so cold that their breath fogged the black sky. The only sound was the rustling of leaves, with no obligation to fill the void of silence with mindless chatter. It was comfortable. 

Yet Paul couldn’t seem to turn off his mind. He wished he could, in this tranquil environment, he _should_. But he had things circling his mind at a mile a minute. More precisely, their trip to America planned for next year. They had already gained the attention of every girl in Britain with their swishy hair and lovey-dovey tunes. Brian seemed 100% sure that they were going to blow up, catching the US off guard, boggling their minds with their _talent, humor, and foreign feel_. John...had doubts. It’s not that he didn’t believe in his band, but his whole life was dead end after dead end; he didn’t want to get his hopes too high. 

Paul could sense the dread surrounding John. He must have been thinking about the same thing.

“We’re gonna be big, darling. I can feel it.” 

John simply nodded. He didn’t want to discuss this. It’s supposed to be relaxing out here in the dark, where no one is around. It was just him, his best mate, and mother nature. But he could still feel his palms beginning to perspire and his heart rate increase just thinking about the band. They could just be another group who made a few hits and disappeared into thin air, yet nobody noticed. John didn’t want that. He didn’t want it at all. He wanted to be remembered. He wanted to be _seen_. He wanted _SOMETHING_. It’s a hit-or-miss industry, he was aware, but for Christ’s sake, if he became known as the “Please Please Me” guy, he would shoot himself. And America was a huge gamble. They probably wouldn’t like them. They wouldn’t think their songs were clever enough. They wouldn’t- 

Deflect. _Deflect._ **_Deflect._**

“I like how you say that,” He murmured. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and took a deep breath. To be honest, he had been wanting to say that for a while. It was strange, but something about the way Paul said that one specific word just tugged at his heartstrings endlessly. 

“Hm?”

“Darling. I like the way you say it.”

A smile of fondness grew on his face. He hadn’t noticed that he said it any different than normal, as he never really paid attention. And maybe he could make the effort to say it more often, just to make John blush. 

_Darling. I can do that. Darling._

They lay there grinning at each other for what felt like years. God, they were like teenagers all over again. The moment felt blessed. All of John’s fears had melted away, like it was some pivotal scene in a film where they find their “true purpose” that helps them get from the climax to the happily ever after. _Why didn’t they do this more often?_ The world surrounding them didn’t matter, America didn’t matter, hell, the band didn’t even matter. All that mattered was John, Paul, and the universe. 

“I also like how you say wanker.”

  
  
  


_**1969** _

The middle of a doorway was not one of the most ideal places for uncovering a heavy memory from years past. 

The memory was so faint and unrealistic and _perfect_ that it couldn’t have been real. It must have been an illusion; some kind of false memory that his mind constructed from a dream. Or, at least, a fabricated reality. Was that it, then? Just something he made up? It couldn’t be, all the details were so clear and so _real_. He didn’t know what to believe. 

It made him weak just thinking about it. They were so young. So juvenile and carefree. And now that he could feel his band, his best mates, the _only thing keeping him sane_ crumbling in his hands, he just wished he was singing “yeah, yeah, yeah” all over again. If he could do it again, or go back in time just _once_ … 

He knew he shouldn’t dwell on the past, but the pit in his stomach was too much to bear. There was so much regret. Time just slipped past him, and he didn’t realize because he was too busy crooning _fucking Yesterday._ And now it’s almost over, he could feel it. They all could feel it. They didn’t want to admit it; it was so heartbreaking that their entire life and legacy was coming to a close. Of course, it was bound to happen at some point, but it was too early. Some bands last _decades_ before they officially break up. 

Maybe he was too broken up about it, or maybe he was being dramatic, but this was too much. He tapped on the wall rhythmically with his index finger. _Darling_ . He sighed. _Darling. Tap-tap tap tap-tap tap._

Huh. 

He whispered a drawled-out “darling” over his tapping once again. And again. _Daaarling._ He laughed in bewilderment. It was one of those realizations that was almost magical. The realization that this could _be_ something! He darted around the room, looking up and down for his notebook. He snatched it off the television set ( _why was it there?_ ) and raced to his piano. Vaguely wondering why he was in such a rush, he fumbled with the pen that was already inside the gutter of the book. 

He spent a few minutes plugging it into a few other lyrics floating in his mind, he found nothing that fit. He sighed and scratched his beard. No, James Paul McCartney doesn’t give up that easily. He stood up and shook out his tension. And he just _went_. Write your heart out, as they say. 

Once he was done, he set down his pen with a long exhale. The mere fact that he actually _liked_ this was amazing, to say the least. A song based on one fuzzy memory that he wasn’t even sure of the actuality of...was good! The lyrics made his heart heavy, and the instrumental was only a few repeated chords so far, but he was sure the guys could help fancy it up with their drumming and guitar...ing. And of course bass-ing, that would be necessary too. He chuckled to himself. _John would like that joke._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John squinted and nodded approvingly at the lyrics, and Paul was yet to see it click with him. The oblivious bastard. He obviously thought the song was up to par, but that wasn’t good enough. He needed to _understand_ what it was about. But Paul didn’t say a word about it.

And, after around an hour and a half of working out the kinks, they were mostly sure of how this recording was going to go. So they did it. They took their 8-track tape and went on recording. George on bass, Ringo on drums, John on guitar, etc. etc. And, almost too soon, it came to Paul’s vocal. He was a bit nervous about it, as he hadn’t sang in that larynx-shredding rock n’ roll voice in a while, and he always took a moment to get back into the groove. But, he trudged forward to the standing mic and waited for his cue. 

It started slow at first, not destroying his throat yet, which he was grateful for. It would be just grand if there was minimal throat-destroying. 

It was only until he was halfway into recording his vocals that John realized. His wild, rough voice filled the air and something occurred to John that never had before. After all the run-throughs of the lyrics, it felt like just another broad, untargeted love song that Paul spouted off, but hearing him sing it, he remembered. He remembered how much he loved the way he said it, and how he thought he’d never tell him. He remembered the night he _did_ tell him. It clicked. And John smiled at Paul. And Paul smiled back. And the two shared a little secret. They felt giddy as children getting away with passing notes. Because John knew, and Paul knew that John knew, and that’s all that mattered. 

After they finished the song, they took a quick break, as Paul had been screaming his throat raw. And when they listened back to the finished product one last time, and the tape ended with a _click_ , they gave each other knowing looks. Because this was their story. And now it was in a song, to be remembered for the rest of time. And the song was _good!_

John nudged him in the shoulder. “Eh?” he said with a smile. Paul beamed, because that was more than the amount of praise he usually got from John. 

“...I think that was nice!” He said weakly, as his voice was a bit shot. 

“Y’know…” John started with a devilish smirk, “The vocals could be better.” He chuckled mischievously, knowing full well that the comment would get to Paul, who put all of his effort into belting out those lyrics. 

Paul just laughed and lightly punched him in the shoulder. 

“Wanker.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Maybe I wrote this because I like the way he says it. Oops lol
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are highly appreciated ! 🤗
> 
> [Tumblr](https://sweartolennon.tumblr.com/)


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